Embers
by Eric Soo
Summary: Prince Rydell of Balder has chosen the path of a knight. But when he accidentally murders a fellow trainee with a new form of magic, the prince is swept up into events outside of his control.
1. Dark Horizons

Slight, somewhat shuffled footsteps approached. A smile of recognition crossed my face; I turned to see my mother enter the room. While a few years shy of fifty, she bore her age well and wore her ruby-red dress regally. Closely trailed by her maidservants, she swept into the room, mirroring my happy demeanor. _And who had any better reason for celebration?_ I thought. The heir to the Kingdom of Balder—me—was coming of age! Today was the day that I—alongside my peers—chose a craft! Of course, this is only a tradition, as every would-be king has always chosen the path of soldiering.

"I am so proud of you Rydell! My little boy has grown up wonderfully!"

"Thank you Mother."

A horn sounded in the distance. It was answered by a bugle…then the steady tattoo of a drum. In a matter of moments, the Royal Band would begin a fanfare, signaling all to witness the Coming of Age ceremony.

"I'll see you soon Love!"

She left the room before I could answer. Turning, I gazed out of my room's window. Situated on the highest tower of the keep, the latter built upon an ancient mountain, my window provided an excellent vista of the kingdom I was to rule: Balder. Already, a crowd had gathered below. Judging from the din that filtered to my perch, I surmised that upwards of a hundred thousand peasants resided below. The throng gave a wide berth to my countrymen of like age; I espied William and Griggs—to name a few. I chuckled when I thought of Griggs. A peasant and a known thief, my best friend was quick with his wit and temper. He was the only layman my mother forbid me from seeing, and the only of whose company I thoroughly enjoyed.

Behind the press lay the quiet mountains of Balder. Known for their fine timber and precious metals, the closest had been gutted to the bone. They had been so mined out, that suburbs had sprung from the crags and risen to the summits. Conifers and Hemlocks blanketed the blue-green ranges of the distance and were glowing under the rays of the midmorning sun.

Behind the mountains, a gout of smoke snaked into the sky. A sick, falling feeling manifested itself in my gut. While the commoner's mind would recognize a forest fire, the nobleman new better: a city was burning. _The Undead were coming_. To others, they only existed in whispers over ale at the inn. To the Knights of Balder, even all of Lordran, they were a growing threat.

The fanfare started. _I was late_! Flying down the steps, I exited the gate and took my place as the last notes hung on the air. My ears burned, yet I managed a half-smile when I heard Griggs chuckle. Assembled before us were the Craftmasters. On the far left was Knight Marshal Dulain. His hair—long since grayed over—matched the armor of his station. Catching my eye, he winked, and then resumed pretending to pay attention to the Master of Ceremonies. To his immediate left was Allfather Micah, chief Cleric of Sunlight. A bald man in his mid-sixties, his girth did little to hide what was once a powerful physique; an enchanted war hammer hung menacingly at his side. To his left stood Duke Galen the Huntsmaster, Haljourn the Blacksmith, Jolie the Carpenter, Dorian the Scribe and Head Mason, as well as Palin, the Loremaster.

Continuing my cursory look down the lines, my eyes settled on an unknown personage. To his side leaned a gnarled, wooden staff. Of average height, the man was completely attired in black; his doublet loosely rested over a long-sleeved shirt. While his face was hidden under his cloak, I couldn't help but feel that I was also being studied. A flash of recognition crossed my face; this man wore the attire of a Sorcerer of Vinheim!

Vinheim was a land heralded for its scholars and magicians. Its people famously antisocial, almost all were talented in magic. Few outside of the realm understood the workings of magic; even fewer had been to Vinheim. This invited unbridled speculation, rumors, and suspicion from everyone else.

The Choosing had started and continued—unabated—for a good hour. I had stood on the end of the line—as tradition dictated—while every other man had chosen their craft, been accepted by its respective teacher, and sworn to adhere to the Guild's rules. Possessing all of the restlessness of a sixteen year old, I was about to scream.

Finally, there were only three men left: William, Griggs, and myself. The Master of Ceremonies inquired in a booming voice,

"William Hoyle, what craft do you wish to pursue?"

"If milord would permit it, I choose to become a knight."

I suppressed a chuckle. _William, a knight? _While possessing an open, honest face, William was a bully who delighted in other's pain. Griggs and I had our fare share of run-ins with William; I rubbed my chin at the memory. Knight Marshal Dulain, clearly distracted, muttered an acceptance and William walked over to join the other boys.

"Griggs, what craft do you wish to pursue?"

At this remark, I renewed my interest. Griggs abhorred work in any form. Whenever I asked him of his future career, he would fall silent. My friend's face was beaded in sweat, but he was wearing his I-am-up-to-something smile. Griggs prostrated himself on the ground.

"If milord would permit it, I wish to become a knight."

The crowd erupted in laughter.

I stood mute. To be a Knight of Balder meant constant training and basic skills in all other crafts. Griggs would also be expected to provide his own armor. An orphan, my friend was the poorest of the poor; there was no way he could become a knight! All eyes were on Dulain. It was unheard of for would-be apprentices to be denied, but the Knight Marshal appeared to be considering the option. For a long moment, he studied the boy prostrated before him.

"I accept this charge."

Jumping to his feet, Griggs quickly closed the gap between the two before Dulain could change his mind. Much to the crowd's delight, he embraced the Knight Marshall. Quick to restorer order, the Master of Ceremonies turned to face me. Beaming, he boomed the replicate phrase:

"Prince Rydell of Balder, what craft do you wish to pursue?"

_There are not going to be any more surprises today_, I thought.

"If milord would permit it, I choose to become a knight."

Despite the hard work, I knew what I was getting into. A knight of Balder would command the greatest respect from his subjects. True, cleric kings and scholars have sat on the throne, but to be a Knight of Balder meant respect, power…it was the dream of every young boy be it peasant or noble.

At Dulain's nod, the crowd erupted into cheers. The reveling was not just limited to proud parents, but with the end of the Choosing came a day of free food, entertainment—and most importantly—free drinks.

The Great Keep loomed overhead; its flickering torches providing ample light for the revelers. Night had failed to dampen the celebrations and much of the Choosing's crowd had remained for feasting and possibly partaking in a game of Footbreaker. The goal of the game was to direct a small leather ball into the opposing team's goal. That being the only rule, one was free to engage in blows and kicks. A skilled observer could judge how long a game of Footbreaker had progressed by noting the amount of blood and sidelined players. I judged the game to be three hours old.

"Just look at them." I laughed. "No direction, no worries…no burdens; I wish we could be that way."

"What do you mean by that? You and me, we'll grow up to be knights or something, go on an adventure or two, then get married an' grow fat. Very fat." At that last sentence, Griggs grinned and stroked imaginary girth.

_He did not know! Not a clue of the peril our nation was in_. I decided to change the subject.

"Now, how are you going to fund your knighthood? Sooner or later, you'll need to buy your own sword, armor, mount…"

"It's all taken care of. Have you ever heard about the rumors of an Undead army?"

My palms began to sweat. _If the citizenry of the Capitol found out that they were one of the handful of remaining cities in the Kingdom, then there would be riots_!

"Why, no. I don't believe in such childish notions."

"Rydell. Do you recall the 'vacation' I took earlier this year?"

"By 'vacation,' you mean vanishing for a month."

"Anyways, that 'vacation' consisted of a little pilgrimage to the northern city of Carth. My father was believed to reside there; I was hoping to meet him. And what do you know?" Griggs continued. "When I arrived, Carth was in ruins! Ransacked! Being the prince and all, I am sure you already know this, but please hear me out." Griggs took a moment to catch his breath before continuing. "I—being a lawful citizen—began removing the coin pouches of the dead. You know, for identification…"

I rolled my eyes and signaled for the thief to continue.

"At this point, I had been collecting coin pouches for awhile. Then, there was this building on fire and…" he shuddered. "A man climbed out of it! His skin was burnt off and he limped terribly, but was still able walk towards me!" Griggs's eyes were wide with fear.

"I began to run, but turned when I heard him fall down. He twitched horribly, then rose **again** to pursue me!" Griggs gripped my shoulders; his light-green eyes were fixed on my own. "What is going on?"

My mouth hung open. Centuries of work would be for naught if I did not properly deal with the situation.

"Griggs…you must promise me that you will repeat this conversation to _no one_. Am I making myself clear?"

The peasant nodded and I continued, "Do you know the history of Lodran? Do you know why the Undead came to be?"

"So there are Undead! I knew it!"

"There have always been! Now shut up and listen:

In the beginning, the world was without form, shrouded in fog. The land was grey and rocky, covered in stone archtrees and populated by everlasting dragons. But then came Fire. With Fire came time, heat and cold, life and death, light and dark. Just like us, our progenitors needed light. Manifesting alongside the Flame, they bound its power to themselves. By doing so, they claimed their humanities, their souls! Three of those men found the Lord Souls; thus, their humanities became directly linked to the First Flames. Nito was the First of the Dead. With his powers, he visited unparalleled plagues and pestilence upon Dragonkind. Second came the Witch of Izalith. Alongside her Daughters of Chaos, she melted the Everlasting Dragons with pyromancies and powerful flames of her own creation. Last of the new Gods was Gwyn, Lord of the Sun. Conjuring great bolts of lightning, his volleys tore apart the Dragons. With the help of Seath the Scaleless Dragon, the old order was annihilated. Thus, began the Age of Gods, the Age of Fire…"

Griggs had patiently endured the history lesson…till now.

"See here," he exclaimed, "You haven't told my why that man was able to..."

"I am getting to that!"

"Alright, but make it quick."

I continued my recitation of our origin. As a royal, it was imperative that I had been made aware of the Undead threat.

"But every flame fades. Ten thousand years ago, the First Flame began to die. From then on, the link between man's humanity and soul was weakened. As time progresses, this link grows weaker and weaker…"

"What does this mean Rydell?" Griggs was entranced.

"Praise the Sun, it usually has no effect. In some cases, however, the link between humanity and soul…severs. Apart, one's humanity dies? It is not fully understood, but when one loses their humanity, their soul seeks to fill the void. The afflicted individual—while still conscious of his or her actions—becomes obsessed with killing others so that their own, "hollow" soul may be complete. Even after death, one possessing a depraved soul will continue to kill until they are hacked to pieces.

The greatest threat to mankind is an Undead army. If present in sufficient numbers, then their durability on the battlefield and complete disregard for human life would spell the end for mankind. Ten thousand years ago, this was a reality. The Fire was dying! Undead hordes swept through the Kingdoms of Lodran. Daily, more and more sane went hollow and chaos reigned. In a last ditch effort, the Lord of Sunlight—our God Gwyn—sacrificed himself by returning his soul to the First Flame. Praise the Sun, this stemmed the numbers of Undead. With less and less of us going hollow, mankind was able to regain a foothold in this world. When the last bands of Undead were vanquished, my forefathers vowed that proper steps would be taken in order to avert a future epidemic. Religion was nationalized and clerics were assigned positions in the government. Likewise, they were charged with hunting down the Undead. This, and a renewed worship in the Gods is why mankind has survived till this day."

"Rydell, this is too much! How can you tell if one is going to become Undead? Why are we commoners not told of this?" Griggs was furious.

"I am sorry, Griggs; realize that this was not my decision." I tried to reason, but Griggs refused to calm down. Pushing off of the wall that I had been leaning on, I began to pace. Scratching my head, I fought for the words, the ability to enunciate. _I shouldn't even be telling him about this! What do I do now?_

The game of Footbreaker had long since ended. While the torches had almost gone out, the moon provided ample light for those still remaining in the courtyard. Earlier, during the game, the young women had sat across from us. Probably gossiping, they had been trying their best to snag the attention of the young men by accentuating their arm gestures, hair flicks, and giggles. I found it funny, but many were successful and drew the game's participants away from us. Those who did not have company had merely to wait for the other men to consume more…proportional amounts of liquid courage. Watching their antics, I stopped pacing.

And sighed.

_Why do women act that way? Why are they attracted to such men?_

A laugh sounded across the court; William had his hand down a wench's skirt and was saying something to the group. Everyone was laughing. Tradition would soon see to them making love in the orchards. The thought made me ball my fists.

"Why are you so down all of the sudden?" Griggs inquired. The latter's temper had completely subsided and patiently waited for a response.

My composure broke. Already strained by the day's emotions, the touchy subject ignited odium.

"Do the Gods not dictate that we save ourselves for marriage? Why then, do our peers steep themselves in such wanton acts? Relationships are called relationships for a reason! Why then, are women so fond of the first man whom takes a liking to them?"

"In love, are you?" Griggs mocked.

"Haha! No. Just longing, that's all. Sorry for the complaint. Where were we?"

"You were answering my question about the Undead."

"Right…" I sighed again. "One is not born Undead, but one can become Undead. When they do, they are perfectly normal. They act, feel, and look just like us! But as they begin to degenerate into a Hollow, the estrangement of one's humanity develops into a visible mark: the Darksign."

"What is a Darksign? Why do you say it with such reverence?" Griggs was thunderstruck.

"At first, the Darksign is merely a single, circular darkening upon the skin. This can originate anywhere, but it is most often located over the heart."

At this remark, Griggs pulled up his tunic and examined his chest. Nothing.

"As time progresses, more humanity is lost. The more humanity lost, the darker one's Darksign becomes. Hence the name, "Darksign." It brands one as an Undead; those with it can never be cured and will one day go hollow."

"Is there no cure? Do the Undead have any hope?"

"Sometimes—for a short period after death—a person's humanity is preserved within the corpse. If a healthy Undead can locate the humanity, then they absorb it. This action significantly prolongs their sanity at the cost of another's life."

Griggs was beyond captivated. Nodding profusely, he had taken note of every word as if he were Undead himself.

"But Rydell, is there no hope for the Undead?"

I scratched my head. "There is this Prophecy, but…"

"But what?"

"The Prophecy is ancient and old in the telling. Its been rehashed so many times that wherever you are and whomever you ask affects the story you are told! But the Prophecy agrees on one universal truism: an Undead will save Lodran. Chosen by fate, he will escape from the Asylum and pay council to the Gods. Only then would our means of salvation be known."

"But how? Isn't Lodran endangered by the Undead?" Griggs was incredulous.

"Undead are but one of the side effects of Lodran's blight: Fire is dying. The First Flames, the Fire of Lords…whatever you call it; it is what allows for mankind to live! The fact that the Fire is failing disheartens us all. Lord Gwyn's sacrifice—as powerful as his soul was—only prolonged the inevitable: an Age of Dark. While we are scared of them, those branded with the Darksign are no less different than us. Unlike Hollows, they are still cohesive and feeling. Those Undead still have lives, families, and friends. If the clergy catches them before they go hollow, families can pay for them to be sent far away to the Undead Asylum. As long as their taper burns, family is still allowed to visit and to write. As long as their taper burns, they have a chance to escape, to fulfill the Prophecy, and to save Lodran!"

My friend crossed his legs and leaned against the parapet. The moonlight illuminated his face and glimmered off his smile.

"That doesn't sound too hard. I'm sure everything will work out."

Since the Choosing, life had fallen into an exhausting routine and eight months had passed in quick succession. At the crack of dawn, us would-be knights were roughly awoken from our Spartan bunkhouse. Afterwards we were assigned to tend to the horses, prepare breakfast and then train with the Knight Marshal. By noon, we would be sent to study "support" crafts such as tactics, smithing and archery before continuing our training till sundown.

I had excelled.

My background had regally prepared me for combat. Growing up, I had been instructed in the use of various arms. My archery was supreme and only surpassed by that of my father's.

"Don't get lazy with those strokes, Rydell!"

Knight Marshal Dulain's reprimand awoke me from my reverie. Renewing my focus, I readied my broadsword and stuck a vicious, overhand blow. With a resounding thud, my blade sank deep into the hemlock's trunk. Extracting the sword—with no small effort—I took a step back and brought the pommel to my hip. Lunging with my right, I drove the point into the front of the tree, then spun, using my momentum to produce yet another nick.

Finally, my foe succumbed to the blows and fell. Exhausted, I lowered the point of the broadsword and sank to my knees. Lathered in sweat and covered in pitch, I was in no mood for celebration; but when the Knight Marshal laid an armored hand on my shoulder, I smiled.

"Take heart from your comrade Rydell. The tree will fall, just like your enemies."

William steamed at the announcement.

"Who told you to stop?" My friend barked and then turned to face me.

"Great job today," he whispered, "You have earned your rest."

I dragged myself back to the city's garrison. Because the true Knights of Balder were campaigning with my father, it was far emptier than usual. Battles between his army and the Undead played out across my mind. Before I knew it, I was asleep.


	2. Magic and Murder

The female voice sang a soft song of summertime. Promises of dances, good harvests, and love filled my ears; beckoning me back to my world.

"Good afternoon, sleepy." Amelia cooed.

_Amelia?_ I jumped up in my cot, forgetting the one above mine. Closing my eyes again, I tried to block out the pain and her laughs.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "I thought you couldn't clean when the barrack was in use?"

The servant stopped cleaning and threw me a puppy frown. Amelia was around my age but had matured much earlier. Famously promiscuous, she had used her shapely form, dirty blond hair and bright green eyes to bed most of my peers—excluding myself.

"It's not in use, not _yet_, anyway." Amelia smiled coyly and started in my direction. Upon standing, she dropped her cleaning rag. Lasciviously, she bent over, allowing for her bosom to expand and…I looked away.

"Others will be here soon. I am sorry, but you must go." My mouth had gone dry.

"C'mon Rydell, can't we just talk?" Amelia sat on the edge of the cot.

"Sure," my voice wavered, "but just talk." I wore a serious expression, determined not to fall for her charms.

"How was your day?"

The simple question struck me as out of character.

"I am fine, thank you. Yourself?"

"Great! I saw you guys working hard out there. Congratulations on yet _another_ victory." She chanced a small smile.

"Thanks!" I grinned back.

"Did you catch the look on William's face?" Amelia laughed. "He looked angrier than your mother when she found out that you and Griggs had stolen all of the baker's sweets."

I joined in the laughter.

"How did you come to know that?"

Amelia scowled. "Someone had to clean up your mess."

We had continued our conversation for some time, enjoying each other's company and watching the door's shadow grow longer. Dulain had probably ordered the others to perform another exercise; I thanked the Sun for the respite my afternoon had become. After a long silence, Amelia turned to face me.

"Thank you for the talk. It is a shame that I chose William over you."

I blushed and began to stutter.

"My parents, fearful of my promiscuous nature, sought to pin me down before I embarrassed them further." My friend sighed and then continued. "Seeing that William belonged to a wealthy family, they arranged a marriage between us. Having him before,"

Amelia saw me wince and lowered her gaze.

"-Was nice, but he soon made it clear that he was only interested in domineering me." She pulled up her sleeve and exposed many, many bruises. "The only thing that can save me from this damnation is an intervention by your father, the king. Will you please talk to him, on my behalf?"

_So that is why she is here_. I bit my lip and nodded. The wench was delighted and moved to embrace me, but I held her at arms length.

A shadow fell across the door.

Amelia screamed and I jumped to my feet, putting myself between the serving girl and the young noble.

"Come here, Amelia." William's beckoned.

The woman clutched at my shoulder and whimpered, "Don't come close!"

"Or what?" the would-be knight teased.

"Or, or…" Amelia's was deep in thought. "Or…Rydell will beat you!"

I elbowed her, but the damage had been done. Drawing his ever-present dirk, William advanced, a murderous look on his face. Coming in high, he slashed a vicious swing at my face. I ducked and drove my fist into William's gut. Turning my left hand, I extended my bent legs and drove up, shattered many of William's teeth.

In falling back, my vendetta reflexively slashed out. Since I was still overbalanced, I moved to deflect the blow with my arm and instantly realized the folly of my actions. Pain raced along my sword arm; tendons severed and I cried out at the numbness in my hand. By now, William had recovered from the blow. Delighting in my agony, he flashed a bloody, pointed-tooth smile. Dirk held high, the would-be knight slowly forced me into a corner and initiated a vicious flurry. I tripped over a chair and inadvertently saved my life, however, for a knifepoint soon occupied the space I vacated.

My head hit the stone floor and my vision swam. While I was stunned, William launched two kicks to my face, shutting one eye. A heavy boot pinned me down, and I knew that I was done for. With an air of finality, I sighed and closed my eye.

_Fight, so that your sun may never set._ Those were the words of my father, perhaps his last advice for me. Would he be proud to meet his son so soon? No. I thought about the family I was to have, the kingdom to be protected, and of those whom I would leave behind. An angry fire welled up inside of me and I screamed.

"GET OFF!"

I clasped William's foot. Imagining it to be his neck, I gave a vicious twist and shattered his ankle. Holding the injured leg high, I furthered the thought of strangling my enemy to death. All of the beatings, taunts, and my ruined sword arm lent further purpose to my actions.

Somewhere, a woman was screaming. William's eyes bugged from a purpled face and his hands were around his own throat! I got to my feet and sought to pry off the death grip, but I would have had better luck lifting the drawbridge.

A powerful presence entered the room. Clad entirely in black, the man produced a gnarled, wooden staff. Throwing back his hood, the Sorcerer of Vinheim regarded me with a look of bewilderment, and then shifted his gaze to the afflicted.

_"Prohibere."_

At that word, the man's catalyst began to glow with a frightening blue power.

Nothing happened. Puzzled, the magician repeated his spell.

_"Prohibere!" _

Then he pointed the staff at me.

"Where is your catalyst? For the Gods's sake boy, remove your spell!"

_Spell? Catalyst?_ I tried to grasp these unfamiliar terms, shrugged, and let go of William's ankle. My adversary continued to strangle himself.

"Don't mock me." The warlock retorted, then thought better of it. Smiling, he whispered, "Imagine your hands releasing the other boy's neck."

I did so, and William fell to the ground.

"Follow me." The sorcerer commanded as much as stated.

None of us stopped at William's body. Amelia had long since fainted; hopefully she would argue that my actions were in self-defense.

The next two months were the longest of my life. Because I, a royal, murdered another noble, it was up to the King and his court to decide the verdict. As long as my father was away fighting, I was spared, yet my training as a knight was suspended. _It's not like I could train if I wanted to_. I thought angrily. While I had regained movement in the right hand, it lacked the dexterity and strength needed to wield a weapon.

Since the incident, Sorcerer Cerian enthusiastically took me up as his apprentice. Even while William's corpse was still warm, the magician had praised me for casting a spell without a catalyst, tome, or agent. He claimed that that day was a milestone in the history of magic and quickly informed his superiors. It would be the only milestone concerning my career in spellcrafting, for even the simplest spells eluded me and I quickly tired of my new profession.

"Don't get frustrated." Cerian implored.

I nodded, but raised a barrier (the one thing I could do) so that the aforementioned could no longer read my thoughts. Cerian's purple eyes were smiling; the man sat down next to me and sighed.

"Maybe we are approaching this in the wrong fashion. I sought to teach you in the usual manner: with spell memorization, small exercises, and lectures on the nature of magic…" _What was he saying? Is Master Cerian giving up on me?_ "…A very orthodox method. But you are no normal student!" Cerian put a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe it is time that I left you to your own devices, to study and experiment with whatever fancies you. My associates will be here soon. Perhaps that pressure would allow you to demonstrate your…ability."

The Palace Garden was reserved for royalty and high-ranking guests. The latter group—being ever occupied with the matters of State—took no note of the sanctuary; I had the whole place to myself. Summer had returned with all her glory and the flowers were in full bloom. Small points of light flickered through the canopy overhead and a bubbling river meandered through the grounds. Birdsong accompanied the verdant scene, but my mood was dark.

While my injury was far from healed, my left arm was in good condition and I returned to practicing my swordsmanship. Keeping in line with my studies, I memorized spells by duplicating the spellbooks with my left hand. This had increased the familiarity with my left, but it was a far cry from the proficiency I had once commanded with my right.

_Sixty-six. Sixty-seven. Sixty-eight._ I took a small break to wipe the sweat from my eyes and then continued with the exercise. Stepping forward, I bashed the tree with the shield in my right, keeping in mind to slide to the left. Coming up under the shield was my wooden shortsword. After the stab, I anticipated a block before dealing a low kick, aiming to crush the opponent's knee. Imagining them fall back in pain, I pressed my "advantage," and delivered a one-two slash at the enemy's face. _Sixty-nine._

Behind me fell soft footsteps.

I spun around and fell under the scrutiny of a young woman. Her black garb was akin to Cerian's and equally concealing, but was obviously tailored for Vinheim's female residents. Like Cerian of Vinheim, the woman was of pale complexion, light brown hair-to the point of being grey-and possessing exotic, violet eyes. She would be very attractive had her face not been set in a frown.

"So you are Prince Rydell of Balder?" Her delivery dripped with contempt.

"Yes?"

Her eyes flickered down and I remembered that I had trained shirtless. Embarrassed, I began looking for my tunic.

"I am Adara of Vinheim and the College's most talented apprentice. We'll both see how well your vaunted 'catalyst-less' magic performs in the duel tomorrow." Turning on point, Adara promptly departed.

_Did she say duel?_

"Cerian! Master Cerian!" I shouted at the top of my lungs and banged my fist upon the study.

"What is it Rydell?"

"Am I to duel tomorrow?"

"Well of course! Tomorrow is the day that you demonstrate all that you have learned." The magician's face was cemented in a wide grin. I began to stammer, then thought better of it. "…The pressure will unleash your talents and allow you to earn your place amongst the most respected of apprentices. Those fools thought I was would amount to nothing! But I've trained you! And your success tomorrow will raise us both into the Sun!"

"What do you mean by 'raise us up?"

"The hierarchy of magical offices, yea, even the Emperor of Vinheim is determined by magical prowess. By demonstrating your unique form of magic, you will be granted the title of 'First, Second, Third, and etcetera…Student.' Only the protégé apprentices of Vinheim are called so, yet, this title literally would number you among the most fortunate. You—as a numbered student—would receive a free education at the College of Vinheim, unlimited funds for your research, and the catalyst of your choosing."

Cerian laughed and gave me a hearty shake.

"But you don't need that! Tomorrow you will duel the very best, the First Student, Adara. You are very lucky that the legend personally requested this duel. Even if you lose—given your opponent—you will more than likely be numbered. Oh, you need this study?" My excited teacher did not wait for a response. "Then I'll leave you to it. Good luck tomorrow!"

I jumped at the door's closing and mused. That there was to be a duel tomorrow was a certainty. But how would I fight? I have no idea what magics would and wouldn't work tomorrow; should I bring my shield?

I fell asleep hours later exhausted, scared, and with more questions.

The dueling room was ancient. Few tapestries of uniform colors adorned the stone walls. The floor was entirely made out of stone; the cracks would allow for the blood to seep through and a carpet would have been hard to maintain. Encompassing the left side of the room was a well-stocked weapons rack. To my right sat two scores of magicians all attired in the characteristic black of Vinheim. Separated from the group—and nearer to me—was Cerian. We made eye contact, and the latter's nod left no room for err. The only other person standing was Adara.

She wore a jet-black, close-fitting tunic and knee-high riding boots. In her right hand was a wand made entirely out of white gold. I gawked at the display of wealth, and then reasoned that magic must run stronger in some families than others. Her catalyst—no doubt—had been passed on for generations.

"The combatants will fight in the fashion of Vinheim. Everything goes until one of the two accepts defeat, or dies. Are there any questions?"

Adara looked to me with her arresting gaze and I adjusted my tunic for the millionth time. _If only Cerian had let me fight in armor!_

"Begin!"

Lighting flashed and I dove to the side. Just as I emerged from the roll, another bolt barely missed my face. Jumping, sidestepping, somersaulting, I did everything possible to stay alive. Before I knew it, I was cornered against the left wall, out of breath and out of hope.

Somewhere in the stands, someone shouted. "How cocky your student is Cerian! Fighting without a catalyst! Fighting without a ward of protection! Fighting…without magic!"

A chorus of laughter erupted amongst the spectators and Adara joined in the mirth. I closed my eyes as much as to concentrate and as to hold back tears. At that moment, I hated the magicians. I loathed their haughty tones, laughs, and looks. I detested the blocks that cluttered my mind, complicating my spells. Most of all, I hated the man who put me in this position, William. Reaching out for Adara, I pictured my hands clamping around her throat.

The laughter abruptly stopped. I opened my eyes and was greeted be the image of Adara suspended a full meter in the air, her hands on her throat! Violet eyes narrowed in defiance; she refused to surrender! More and more, Adara came to resemble the hemorrhaged and strangled William.

"STOP!" I screamed and erased the macabre picture from my mind.

For the first time, Adara saw me as an equal. Slowly, she shook her head and regained her feet. But no sooner had she recovered before casting yet another spell. In response, I rolled to the left…right into the armory! I took a quick inventory.

_OK so there's a mace, club, hammer, spear. There're all too heavy for my left!_ I rolled again. _Broadsword, rapier, bow…bow! _The intervals between Adara's attacks began to widen and I thanked the Gods for the extra moment, seizing both the bow and a quiver.

Fire exploded along my right side. Rolling on the ground, I did my best to put out the hungry flames.

"Focus, my child!" Cerian's voice cut across the din.

_Focus_. Breathing in deeply, I imagined myself surrounded by a cocoon of water. I entertained this thought for sometime before realizing that the pain had stopped! Pulling my palms under me, I pushed myself off the ground and was rewarded by another fiery blast. This time the fiery orb dissipated, as if striking water. Not waiting to test my magical ward, I drew a bead and shot at Adara.

_"Tueri Sagittis!" _

Adara's catalyst accompanied the words of power with a series of movements. I was not surprised when my projectile stopped in midair, but when I discovered that my quiver was empty! Seeking to disrupt her proceeding spell, however, I drew and fired as if I had loaded the weapon.

Adara's eyes widened in surprise, but my opponent continued her casting, not missing a beat. My conjured arrow deflected harmlessly off her ward and I—shocked at the magical feat—had forgotten to fire a second!

_"__Caelestis__…"_ The witch held upraised arms, palms opened towards the heavens. _"…__Malleus__!"_ Adara's palms met in a peal of thunder before initiating a vicious downswing.

Then it was over. I lay in a pool of my own blood and my vision blurred. I didn't feel the pain, but a detached consciousness told me that my skull was cracked. _What happened?_ My thoughts were cluttered and sluggish. Vaguely, I remembered _Malleus._ Hammer.


	3. The Siege

A man's face loomed only inches above mine, eyebrows knotted in concentration. He chanted softly and I was bathed in a warm, yellow glow.

"Allfather Micah? What happened?" I groaned.

The cleric smiled and stood up.

"Much has happened, my boy. I am pleased that your magical endeavors have succeeded, but do avoid any attempts at spellcasting…for now."

I propped myself up on my elbows and rubbed my eyes.

"Why?"

"Your skull was cracked and lungs punctured by your ribs. Praise the Gods, you survived, but your body has been sorely taxed from the healing magic. Likewise, you had cocooned and have been out for a good week, recovering."

"Cocooned?"

"Casting magic requires energy on your part. While it seems effortless, magicians only can do so much before they must stop and rest. In some cases, magic users—_especially_ the younger novices—overestimate their abilities and drive themselves past exhaustion. In order to recover from the shock, their bodies tune out and sleep for many a night. Some never wake up. As your healer, I implore of you to refrain from spellcasting for the remainder of the current situation."

"There's a situation?"

Micah's smile flew from his face. Readjusting my gaze, I noted that the Sunlight Cleric's habit was stained with blood.

"An Undead army has attacked the city, King Rendal is nowhere to be seen, and…I must go."

Micah curtly bowed and left the room.

_The city is under attack? My father is missing? _The centerpiece of my concern, I imagined the giant of a man. Possessing an unruly mane of black hair and an equally untamable beard, my father was known for his fiery temper as much as for his compassion towards his people. Father had lowered taxes, was well loved and had even killed a wyvern! That his campaign had failed spelled the death of our nation.

I banished that possibility. Most likely, father was so busy fighting that he had no time to report. With him absent, my military rank was second only to Knight Marshal Dulain. Allfather Micah stated otherwise, but my station demanded that I take action! The severely depleted garrison would need every hand they could; I would hate to see Father's face if he learned that his son played no part in the defense.

I rolled out of the bed into a wall of vertigo. For a few seconds, I stood disoriented, waiting for the room to still. My armor, sword, bow, quiver, and choice arrows stood by my bedside. Donning the plate-mail took longer than usual, but the familiar weight was reassuring. Soon, I was well on my way to joining the battle.

The sky was an angry canvas of reds and oranges. Giant boulders—the work of trebuchets—had peppered much of the city. Broken masonry and demolished buildings littered my path; it was well over an hour before I reached the frontlines.

The Capitol of Balder was tempered by centuries of successful defenses. Three walls divided the city into the Lower, Middle, and Upper Districts. Each wall (and each district) was consecutively higher and grander than the last. All of these were topped with siege engines and a Command Tower from which the defenses could be coordinated. Knight Marshal Dulain was at the second of these towers. If the veteran experienced any surprise at seeing me, he did not show it.

"What is the situation?"

"See for yourself." The Knight Marshal gestured towards the window.

The sea of an Undead army surged around the base of the Second Wall. "Army" was a loose term; among the _mob_ numbered every class, kingdom, race, occupation, and gender. There was no uniform or standard weapon. Everyone bore the clothes they were wearing when they went Hollow and whatever weapon they could find. It was almost a comical sight, yet the aforementioned all shared one salient characteristic: death. Ubiquitous was reddened eyes that knew no rest. Yellowed skin stretched over wasted muscles and many had suffered otherwise mortal wounds. One man had his face knocked in with a mace. Another-an elderly woman-had been pierced by a spear; its shaft protruded from her front and had been driven through her back. Both continued to march in my direction.

Healthy, armored Undead sat astride their mounts and directed the mob in an orderly fashion. Trebuchets returned to us the rubble of our First Wall and those unlucky enough to have been caught in the initial assault.

"The Second Wall will stand for two more days before it yields to these bloody trebuchets. With so many enemies, I've been forced to spread out the remaining knights along our center and right flank. The left is in good order, being manned by the contingent of magicians from Vinheim. Though I'd never say it to those cocksure and uppity _wizards, _they are hell'a useful in a fight."

"Where are the trainees?"

"The knights-in-training and the able-bodied citizens are to remain in reserve."

"We can't afford a reserve."

At this remark, the Knight Marshal's shoulders sagged. I pressed my advantage, playing the age-old enmity between spell and sword.

"Remind me, who is guarding our left?"

"Why, the magicians of course."

"And where-may I ask-are our lines weakest?"

Catching on, my friend smiled.

"Why, the magicians."

"Of course." I laughed.

Dozens of wizards were manning the parapets. Their catalysts glowed with an eerie blue light, illuminating the falling darkness.

The arrival of my company provoked mutterings of discontent. Conscious of my failure at the duel and of our primitive torches, I ordered my unit to stop.

"We did not ask for reinforcements!" Someone shouted.

"Nor will we deter them!" Cerian declared. "We thank the Second Student for his support. Spread out your company along the front; we'll need your soldier's help when the enemy mounts the walls."

_Since when had Cerian carried such authority?_ I repeated my Master's order and motioned for the forty-some trainees to disperse. Before I could react, he engulfed me in a bear hug.

"You did it Rydell! Or should I say _Second Student?_"

"Rydell is fine. You are a commander now?"

"Indubitably." His face dimpled. "After your stunning performance, the Council named you Second Student! I—as your instructor—share in this glory; you must come back to Vinheim with me! I'm sure you'd love it there. There are…"

"It sounds like a wonderful place Cerian, but I have my duties as Prince. If we stave this siege, then I promise to visit."

The wizard's demeanor grayed. His next words came out haltingly and hushed.

"I fear you may never get the chance. The Undead launch assaults around the clock. Those who have not been killed have stretched their arts to the limit and many have cocooned."

A horn sounded in the distance and was promptly followed by a chorus of shrieks and unearthly wails. The men groaned; I pulled out my bow.

The Undead were upon us. While I could not make out specific shapes, I nocked an arrow and fired at a far away silhouette.

"Save your arrows for the siege ladders." Cerian ordered.

On queue, a host of ladders materialized. The mages set a good half on fire, but many reached their destination and granted the invaders a fighting chance.

Together, Cerian and I pushed off two of the nearby scaling ladders. We did not reach the third in time; Undead spilled onto the battlements. I drew my sword with my right hand and rushed an Undead, slicing the man across the chest. We both cried out: he in frustration, and I having used my injured hand. Chiding myself, I faked a lunge with the right. The former soldier sought to parry my would be blow and was off balance. After tossing my blade to my left, I plunged into the man's exposed side. Grabbing his shoulder, I aimed a vicious kick and sent him flying over the wall.

He hit the street with a sickening thud.

There was no time to admire the feat, for two more Hollows were upon me. Driving my sword in a low line, I slashed at the first one's shins. My adversary—a woman—howled with rage and stabbed in my direction. I nimbly back stepped and riposted, severing the woman's head. The second man fell quickly and I put his kite shield to better use. I stumbled upon another Undead in the act of cresting the wall. Bashing him with my shield, I sent him tumbling to his second death below. He took the ladder down with him and dislodged several of his comrades.

I dispatched three more ladders in this manner before finding myself alone with Cerian. The Knight Marshal was right in crediting the sorcerers' prowess in battle, for Cerian fought like a demon. He used a dagger as often as his magic and lit the skies with an impressive array of spells.

We made eye contact and nodded, for we were too weary to speak. Cerian's arms were sticky with dried blood and sweat; I was probably adorned in a similar fashion.

Elsewhere, the fighting continued.

"I saw an emergency flare." Cerian huffed. "The Undead have crested the west end of this wall!"

"Stay here and rest. I will round up whatever trainees remain and dislodge them."

Of the forty would-be knights, only thirteen remained. Griggs numbered among them; I thanked the Gods for sparing my friend.

"How many ladders have you spurned?" He asked.

"Six. Why do you want to know?"

"I've kicked four, so you beat me."

"No time to talk now, we've reached the overrun part of the wall."

I pointed to the panoply of defensive structures below us. As of now, we were at the left-most section of the Second Wall. The Western Compound—a small fortress along the wall—was based here; it was shaped like a square. The compound's left wall was the steep mountain face. The right wall ran perpendicular to the northern barrier. The smaller, city-facing partition featured a gate that could only be raised from the city's side. All three barriers—the left, bottom, and right sides of the square enclave—were largely intact, but the front barricades were obliterated; Undead swarmed over the opening. Even more alarming was the pattern of fighting within the complex. The Western Compound's defenders had not retreated! _Nor could they._ I thought. _The gate was closed!_

"We must open that gate!" I shouted.

"But how?" Griggs questioned. "We can't just jump down from this wall."

"But we can climb! Do you remember our days as pastry thieves?"

A nod of heads and licking of lips affirmed my point.

"Baker's window must have been two stories up, yet everyone managed to eat away at his wares. Knights, I order you to climb down this wall!"

The climb down had been uneventful. The age-old walls provided many purchases for prying fingers; we were on the ground in a matter of moments.

"Great climbing everyone! Now let's open that gate!"

"There's a reason it's stuck, look!" Griggs directed our view to the gate-raising gears. One was smashed by a trebuchet boulder and beyond repair.

A woman screamed. Her tone was livid and defying. Still screaming, her cry evolved into a crazy cackle of antagonistic quality. _Adara's voice!_

I broke into a run for the gate.

Pressed against the gateway were five magicians. Four were sleeping (they had cocooned); only the First Student still stood. A thin, blue bubble separated her from the Undead throng.

"Adara!" I banged on the gate.

The sorceress was caked in blood. How much of it was hers, I could not tell. Sword cuts had shredded her fine tunic and Adara's black riding boots had browned with mud. Her hair was more grey than its usual light brown; it hung loosely about her and clung to her face. Adara's lips turned up at the corners in a small smile.

"Leave me be, Second Student. You know that this gate cannot be lifted; it would merely provide the Undead purchase to this city."

A riot of emotion rooted me to the spot. _I can't let them die! But I can't let the Undead in either! What do I do?_ My eyes scanned the area, searching for a solution_. I could try to open the gate with my magic, but how would it be closed?__ If only I could seal the gate! _

_ Gods help me._

The last rays of sunlight fell against the mountainside, illuminating the whole of the Western Compound.

"That's it!"

"What's it?" Adara questioned. "Did you not hear me? Go!"

I imitated her slight smile. _Were the Gods sending me a message?_

"Can you lift this gate?"

The witch frowned.

"Perhaps for a few seconds, but only partway."

"On the count of three, we'll lift this gate. Griggs and my men will carry your friends to safety."

Griggs piped in. "Hear now, what about the Undead?"

"The other knights will hold them off until everyone is behind the gate. That's an order, soldier."

Adara locked her eyes with mine.

"You are either the most brave, or the most foolish man I have ever met."

"On the count of three. Ready?"

She nodded.

"One…(Adara's ward shone unsteadily and began to shrink).

Two…(Griggs gulped; my peers readied their swords).

Three!"

"Protect the mages!" Griggs roared and charged the Undead. Many of the motley group—surprised by the sudden display of force—fled. The remainder of the men set to retrieving the cocooned mages; I closed my eyes and focused on the task before me.

I recalled the fresh memory of the mountainside bathed in the last, most golden rays of sunlight. Lifting my hand, I silently traced the outline of the cliff face that formed the left side of the Western Compound. My vision was preternatural. I could see every crag, overhanging ridge, and ivy clinging desperately to the rock. Slowly, I opened my palm and grasped at the mental portrait I had created.

Muffled cries and the ringing of steel dimly reminded me of the continued fighting. At that moment, Allfather Micah's cautionary warning against spellcasting entered my mind, and I became acutely aware of the cocooned mages I had passed by earlier in the battle. _What if someone were to attack me now? What arrogance must be driving me to attempt something like this? _For a second my concentration broke, and I immediately cursed myself for the hesitation.

_This is not an act of hubris, but a spell of desperation!_ _I may cocoon, but that was a consequence I was prepared for from the start of this battle. A Knight of Balder must be prepared to protect his people; may the Flames guide me!_

Resolute, I extended my hand and grasped the stone sentinel that was standing watch over the Western Compound. My fingers closed around the edges, and I _felt_ the weight of a thousand tons of rock in my hand.

Then I made a fist.

Cobblestone rose to meet my face. At first I could not tell whether the spell was successful or if I had fallen. _Probably both_. I chuckled. My head felt light, lighter than it should be, and I felt immobilized with the same detachment I had experienced at the end of the duel. Slowly, the color began to leech out of my vision and I heard what sounded like the crashing of a thousand waves on the seashore.

Then everything went black.

I was in darkness. Indistinguishable voices were whispering in the background, but I could understand that their tone was strained. I knew that they were talking about me, but my mind was too foggy, too _broken_ to register anything other than the fact that I was alive.

Hours later—it could have been days—I awoke with a start. Someone was pressing a foul smelling tonic to my lips. I frowned, and then gulped down the potion in an effort to chase away the disturbing dreams of my sleep. An amalgamation of the last couple of weeks, I was assaulted by phantasmagorias of burning castles, attacked by friends-turned-hollow, and overwhelmed with a sense of despair.

"It's good to see that you are awake. I would not be able to repay my debt to a dead man."

I started to ask, "Who…?" and found myself staring at a concerned set of purple eyes.

_Adara_.

"First Student!" I exclaimed. "Have you been waiting for a long time?"

The figure leaning against the wall laughed. More precisely, the sorceress shook her shoulders and opened her mouth as if to she was going say something. For a moment, I was worried that Adara was casting a spell.

"I would have been here anyway. Not _every_ magician aims to cocoon every time they fight."

My ears burned, and I was about to make a sharp retort when I remembered why I had risked spellcasting in the first place.

"What happened at the Western Compound? Has the fighting stopped? How long was I—."

The sorceress of Vinheim silenced me with an upraised hand. Adara opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, then balled her fists and walked over to the side of my cot.

"Why did you cast that spell? We were _not_ friends, and you could just as easily left me to my fate._ I_ would have. With your power, I'm amazed that you were stupid enough not to just close the gate behind us…" Adara's hands were on her hips. With every word, her voice rose in pitch and volume until she was shouting.

"What do you mean, my power? I don't even understand normal magic; why does everyone think that I have control over what's happened to me?" Pulling myself into a sitting position, I wanted to scream at the ungrateful woman whose life I had just saved.

This movement opened a deep wound in my side, however, and my anger evaporated in a haze of pain. With a herculean effort, I lowered myself down to the bedframe before I could black out. Gradually, I began to understand the logic in her words.

"So if I didn't close the gate, then what happened?" I remembered my vision of the cliff side and of a resolution that only the Gods could have given me.

Adara heavily sat down on a nearby chair. Again, she shuddered with silent laughter and shook her straight, shoulder-length brown hair.

"Half the cliff was destroyed. When you cocooned, the rubble swept away that portion of the Undead army and sealed the break in the Second Wall. I guess it wasn't _entirely_ a bad move."

I nodded with a sigh of relief.

"…Unfortunately, the others found out about your secret when they were tending to your wounds." Adara gave me a look of empathy before continuing. "I…I'm sorry that I didn't recognize you as an Undead."

My heart stopped.

"Did you say, Undead?"

Adara nodded. "On the left side of your chest. Allfather Micah saw it when he was praying over you."

With trembling hands, I pulled up the sheets that had covered me and lifted the bloodstained left side of my tunic. True to her words, a pale orange circle had manifested itself. _A Darksign!_


	4. Undead Prince

"But how? I'm the _Prince of Balder_. Is there any way I can—?"

"Rydell. Look." Adara interrupted me to point at the inside of her right calf. Slowly, she undid the ties and removed her knee-length boot. Like me, an angry orange circle revealed the estrangement of her humanity. Adara's Darksign was several shades darker, however, to the point of being black. She must have been Undead for quite some time.

"Turning Undead increased my powers enough so that I could seize the title of First Student. Using that position, I joined the others afflicted with our curse in a search of the Dragon School's vast archives."

"What do you mean by 'others afflicted?' Wouldn't you have to keep your identity a secret?" I was incredulous at how Adara seemed so calm concerning her current state. She could go hollow at any moment! _I am no better_, I chastised myself. _How long is it till I go insane and join the army of Undead outside these walls?_

"Of course I had to keep it a secret! But I don't believe that there is a single Undead between Zena and Anor Londo that has not tried some method of removing the Darksign. Unlike those superstitious fellows that pray till they go hollow, the numbered students of the College of Vinheim had everything we could desire: catalysts, money, and the accumulated knowledge of a millennium. It wasn't long before all of us with this common interest showed the others our Darksign."

The Dragon Scholar put on a wistful smile before continuing. "There is nothing in this Age of Fire that the College has not not documented, and we researched every outbreak of Undead with a zeal that rivaled even the clerics of Thorolund."

Adara's purple eyes were glowing as she explained the steps of procedures and experiments the students did in their attempts to remove the Darksign. None of them worked, but all of the sorcerers involved found reasons to make their lives worth living. Unable to trust the reactions of their families, the magicians began to confide in each other. Unfortunately, this amiable atmosphere evaporated when they began to make serious strides in their research.

"What do you mean?" I interrupted the monologue. "Weren't the scholars supposed to be working together?"

"We were! But as our signs grew darker, we grew more desperate. When one of our members went Hollow, some of the other numbered students crossed the line. Being Undead made them stronger, you see, and they decided that if they could not cure their affliction, then they could at least palliate the disease by stealing the humanity of others. Armed with catalysts and daggers, they began to sacrifice healthy Undead in order to prolong their own lives." Adara spat at this statement. "It's ironic that they had to forsake human nature in order to preserve their humanity."

"You didn't try to stop them?"

"It was the impending madness of going hollow that drove them to commit such crimes. While I do not condone such behavior, their success transformed a reversal of the Darksign's progress from a theory into a procedure. It wasn't until we summoned a demon, however, that we began to make real progress."

"You summoned a _demon_? How could a demon possess any shred of humanity?" I gasped.

"A demon's soul is nothing more than a bloated human one. Because a component of every human soul is humanity, it is extremely likely that it is present in great enough amounts in a demon to be of use to the Undead."

"So you are telling me that if I want to stay sane, then I'll either have to fight demons or murder a healthy Undead?" I mused. _Neither of those options sounds even remotely appealing_.

"You are learning fast, Second Student."

I sighed and lay my head on the pillow. For a while, I sat in silence and tried to digest all that had been said. After running around in circles, my thoughts turned to the welfare of my best friend.

"How's Griggs?" I inquired.

"The Knight Marshall has been keeping him busy running messages between the Great Keep and what little defenses remain on the Second Wall. I was surprised when he took up the offer, though I am sure his reasons would be different than yours." Adara giggled. "Every run between the frontlines and command sees his coin pouch grow progressively larger."

I laughed (which hurt), just as Griggs jingled in. New money always made him grin, but he was wearing the most uncharacteristic of frowns. Seriousness did not rest easy on him. After acknowledging me with a nod, he began to pace the room. The thief was muttering something, and it wasn't until the fourth orbit of my bed that I picked out the words.

"Undead! Prince Rydell is Undead…" He was in shock.

"Its not like I'm actually dead."

"We were going to live a life comfortably within the Capitol, go on an adventure or two, and get fat! Now it seems as if neither of the three are going to happen. Balder will fall, the others will probably execute you, and the only excess you will be searching for is other people's humanity. When did you turn—?"

Adara slapped Griggs across the face. "Rydell has just found out that he is Undead, his kingdom is burning, and you are blaming _him_ for the death of your shallow dream?"

Griggs was traumatized. "See here, since when were you two friends?"

"Since he saved my life. You should—" Adara paused her berating midsentence and turned towards the door. I too, could just barely make out the clinking of Dulain's armor and the characteristic rattling of Allfather Micah's chain mail. The two entered the room with a somber look on their faces. I offered them a weak smile, but they did not return it.

Allfather Micah was the first to speak.

"After much deliberation, we decided that it would be too much for the nation to bear if they found out that its cherished prince was Undead. Especially when facing the largest threat in her history, Balder must fight on with the knowledge that you died at the front lines, as a true knight should."

"That is how you treat the man who defended the Second Wall? Prince Rydell saved our lives, and you are going to make him a _martyr_?" Adara was livid.

Dulain was the one who responded. "You speak the truth, sorceress of Vinheim. But while you have known the prince for days, we have taught and trained Rydell since his youth. This was no easy decision, but you must try to understand…"

"_Try to understand?_ You are going to execute the only man who can succeed the Kin—."

Allfather Micah silenced her. "This is not your place, Magician. Rydell knows that we will only take the best course of action for this nation, and his silence is an acquiescence to this."

Despite the trust for the father figures of my life, I was speechless at the fact that my Undead state could so easily cause them to forsake me. When my father the king left on his long campaigns, these were the men who made sure I took care of my mother and continued my training. How many times have I turned to them for help?

The priest continued: "We don't know how many myriads of Undead are outside those walls. Even more disconcerting is the fact that there could be any number like you within the city. This is a quiet threat in the back of everyone's mind; it will do nothing but incite paranoia if your fate was discovered. I am sorry, but—."

At this remark, Griggs opened his mouth for the first time. "You aren't sorry! I'm not one for logic, but isn't Rydell's friendship with you a good enough reason to be spared? He can be idealistic and doesn't always think things through, but Rydell means the best for our country. Now that he's Undead, who else would be suicidal enough to attempt to fulfill _The Prophecy?"_

Micah and Dulain did a double take. "How do you...?"

Griggs ignored their question. "If an Undead is going to save Lordran, why kill them all before they have a chance? Can't you just send Rydell to the Asylum?" Griggs interjected.

The Knight Marshall shook his head. The grey hair at his temples was even more pronounced now, and he looked as if he had aged a year for every hour of the conflict.

"The Undead Asylum was a joint project between the kingdoms of Lordran. At first it worked perfectly for the aristocrats that could afford to live there. Alas, it quickly became overcrowded and was the first to lose funding when Undead outbreaks began to plague these lands. We haven't had contact with the pris—" Dulain eyes widened and he took a short pause before continuing. "Like I said, we haven't heard from the _Asylum_ in months. Even before this plague, the conditions there were wretched. If we did bring young Rydell, than he would have to be prepared for the most depraved of circumstances. Surely nothing fit for a prince."

I was not arrogant enough to pass up a second chance at life, even if it was behind bars. "I will go." I rasped.

Micah and Dulain shared a look. "At the very least, the Kingdom of Balder is the closest to Anor Londo and her principalities. The Undead Asylum should only be a day or two's journey from here. Our only condition is that you travel under escort; the thief and sorceress will remain here to participate in the defense of the Capitol."

Griggs chafed at the remark. Whether it was because he was being called a thief or because he was being separated from me, I could not tell. There was some talk afterwards, but all I could think of was my informal exile. Word would be spread that I had died; I would never see my kingdom or my friends again.

The others could make no more demands other than my life being spared. After saying their goodbyes, Griggs and Adara left the room and were replaced by a duo of knights ordered to keep guard. When the knights arrived, Knight Marshall Dulain sharply turned on his heel and paused in the doorway. For a moment it appeared as if he would turn to say something, but he marched out of the room. A tearful Allfather Micah cleaned my wound and gently replaced the bandages. For the last time, he gave me his blessing; I was bathed in a soft, healing light and the comforting darkness of sleep.

I awoke with my hands bound, on a shaking wagon headed west. I was still recovering from my injuries, and by the time I awoke the noonday sun was almost at its zenith. Around me stood the green-needled Conifers and drooping Hemlocks. The sky was its everyday azure blue, and not a cloud hung in the sky. Flanking me were the stoic knights whose task it was to escort me to the Undead Asylum. I was relieved that my Undead self would see another day, but something kept me ill at ease. The birds were silent, and the clopping of the horse's hooves was the only sound I could hear! When I turned around, my heart collapsed at the sight of the Capitol. The First and Seconds Walls—visible from even the countryside—were reduced to rubble, and great columns of smoke poured from every district of the city.

I squirmed in my ropes, incited at the fact that I would not be able to fight on like the others. "Guards!" I screamed. "We must turn around! Can't you see they need our help?"

The Knights of Balder did not flinch. Even when I threw myself to the side of the wagon and began to scream, not one of them turned to acknowledge me. It was not until several minutes later that the knight to my right lifted his armored glove.

"Prince Rydell." His voice was soft, and eerily metallic through the lowered visor. "I apologize in advance."

Then he hit me.

My head knocked against the bottom of the wagon. When my self-awareness returned, I was staring at the sky. The action reminded me of countless times in the past when I took my thoughts to the Palace Garden and lay a similar position. Slowly, the events of the past months began to replay in my mind. I thought of the Choosing, my progress in the road to become a knight, and even the fleeting passion I took to my studies in magic. I remembered Master Cerian and Adara of Vinheim. Griggs and his omnipresent chuckle …bad memories, too, floated before my eyes in a sudden revelation. The horrors of battle, my exile, and the death of countless other trainees overwhelmed the emotional levees of my self-control. I progressively broke down, and wept as much as my sixteen-year-old pride would allow. Methodically, I began to count the faces of the friends I would never see again until sleep stole over me as suddenly as the fate that had so transformed my life.

On the second day, the three of us were forced to abandon the wagon at the base of an ancient mountain. The only path to our destination allowed for but two men to stand abreast. One knight took the lead, and the other soundlessly took up a position behind me. Forbidding cliffs rose up on either side to allow the most minimal of light, keeping our quiet ascent in twilight. Eventually, even the sickly illumination that had guided us died out. I was allowed to carry a torch, and the other men drew their swords. We continued.

The entrance to the Asylum was a gradual transition. When I finally noticed where I was, I involuntarily gasped. The massive complex was hewn straight out of a series of summits, all formed from the same black-grey rock. Towering archways and the gothic facades of Carim soared next to the squat and once-colorful buildings of Zena; I immediately recognized the Undead Asylum as the multi-kingdom masterpiece it was no doubt meant to be. Decades of neglect had faded even the most jubilant of colors, however. Several buildings had collapsed in disrepair and the area gave off a decrepit aura.

A great coalition was rumored to tend to the Asylum's denizens and dispose of Hollows, but only a handful of men greeted us. Nevertheless, they accepted their new guests with grace. My rope bonds—which had painfully cut into my wrists—were removed, and I was shown to a reviving bath. After sharing a meal and being assured that my conditions would be satisfactory, the Knights of Balder left in high spirits.

When my countrymen departed, a stout man in a green leather jerkin promised to show me to my new quarters. Without checking to see whether or not I would follow, he immediately set off in a disorienting course that led us deeper into the mountain.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

The man answered me with a fiendish smile. Twice more I inquired of our progress to my new quarters, but the man did not even turn around. _He must be deaf._

The interval between torches slowly began to increase, until many sections of our walk were in total darkness. At that point, I was guided more by sound than by sight. A slight keening began to make it harder to distinguish where my guide was. With every step, my suspicion began to grow and the shrill noise to rise in pitch. When we passed the first cell, I knew that I had I waited too long to act. I froze, and three swords were pressed to my back in response. Ruthlessly, the guards prodded me down a final hall lined from wall-to wall with occupied cells.

"You can't do this to me! I'm the Prince of Balder!" I screamed against the rough hands that were dragging me to my inevitable prison; all the while inundated by a keening that was threatening to burst my eardrums.

"You are _Undead_. Now that you are one of us, no one gives a shit about what happens to you!" The guard nearest to me cackled.

The keening began to differentiate into voices. The somber words of men, screaming of women, and weeping of children in the thousands were united in a cacophony of despair. Lifting my hands in a vain effort to silence the cries, I unconsciously added my screams to the others. Abruptly, I was tossed into a cell smelling of feces, vomit, and decay.

I was home.


	5. Undead Asylum

The days passed in an interminable darkness, punctuated only by the occasional replacement of a single torch at the end of the hall. The air was stale and vapid, yet the orange glow wavered and cast the dungeon in an otherworldly, shifting light. Occasionally my straining eyes would be rewarded with the sight of my fellow inmates, but the light painted their skin with a red tint. I cringed when their hungry red eyes locked on to me before the guard in the green jerkin spirited them away to another part of the castle.

Once a week the deaf guard would make his rounds, flashing each prisoner his fiendish grin. At first I thought that he would bring food, but the gaping hole that was once my stomach knew no meal since my arrival. Raising my head to stare at the skylight far above me—the barred square was no more than a pinpoint of light—I contemplated my hopeless situation. A pile of rags, decaying filth, and Gods-knew-what else hunched in the corner; I sat upon the debris that served as a bed and held up my hands before me.

Dying callouses reminded me of the knight I once had trained to become, and the thick skin on the pad of my index finger a testimony to the countless hours I had devoted to archery. A pale, jagged white scar bisected the palm of my right hand and hung loosely over the sallow flesh that just barely clung to my emaciated frame. _The body of any normal human would have died by now_, I mused. The hunger and want of thirst was still there, but my mind remained lucid. _Is this because I am Undead? At least my mind remains intact. But for how long?_ I glanced at the ever-darkening Darksign and sighed. _It's all useless now_. _What good am I now that I can no longer return to the Kingdom?_

**…In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords… **

_The Prophecy gave me purpose. I was sent here so that I could live, escape, and fulfill the destiny of the Undead!_ For a brief moment, my heart fluttered at the thought of embarking on such a quest. I imagined myself wielding a broadsword and cleaving dragons like my father. A maelstrom of magic would rage before me and Lordran would be saved by a true Knight of Balder. Then my gaze returned to my hands, and I chastised myself for the childish fantasy. With no hope to substantiate the spark, I was once again left alone to the darkness of my thoughts.

I laughed, shaking my shoulders and smiling. The gesture was silent, mirthless, and hollow. For a startling moment, I thought that I had emulated Adara's peculiar laughter, but then the wads of wax—at least I hope it was wax—in my ear began to itch and I adjusted the rather effective barrier for the hundredth time.

Outside had not changed. Men and women lay defeated in their cells, their faces blank and listless. Some screamed. Others rocked back and forth while holding their knees to their chests…another man had positioned his head between his legs and was frantically clawing at his head. I noticed that he was not wearing earplugs; his endeavor to tear out the sound that threated all prisoners' sanities only succeeded in scratching out large chunks of his scalp. Blood oozed between the man's fingers, yet he continued to perform the act in a habitual, practiced manner.

Come to think of it, all of the Undead prisoners were engaged in one activity or another in an effort to occupy themselves. The raised hands, pacing, rocking back and forth, and gnashing of teeth combined with the flickering torchlight to give birth to a swirling world of sorrow and insanity. One by one, the prisoners and even the cells themselves began to gyrate before my eyes, swirling and dancing and jumping in the mysterious rite of madness.

I was enthralled.

After many minutes—it could have been hours—I tore my eyes from the spectacle and steadied my throbbing head against the bars of my cell. I was just about to shut my eyes when I noticed him.

The prisoner possessed high cheekbones and a receding blond hairline that contrasted starkly with the dark environment. While he occupied the cell two spaces to my right, I could clearly make out the man's strong jawbone and pale blue eyes set upon the floor in front of him. He was quietly talking to himself. The man had no defense from the strident voices outside, yet his face was stoic. The knight—I could tell from his thick linen tunic—radiated an aura of serenity; I didn't have to hear his words to understand that he was praying.

Once again I lifted my eyes to the spectacle before me. This time the room did not gyrate about in a haphazard or chaotic motion, but swirled around the one still point—the one sane Undead—that I resolved to meet.

I tossed a rock into the man's cell. The knight's piercing blue eyes met mine, and I involuntarily gasped at the lifetime of experience that lay behind them. That he was able to maintain his equanimity in such a place spoke volumes about his familiarity to the chaos of battle. The man did not talk, only stared with the patience of someone familiar with the diplomatic relations of court. Upon further examination, I descried a feint purple film stretching between the bars. _A vow of silence miracle!_

I was in the presence of a paladin.

_Who are you?_ I mouthed.

The man gave me a quizzical look. I repeated the query, careful to accentuate my words.

_Who…are…you?_

_Oscar…of…Astora._ The proud knight rolled back his shoulders and slightly puffed out his chest at the statement; he must have been a high-ranking figure back in his homeland.

_And you?_ He replied. _What…is…your…name?_

_Prince Rydell…of Balder. _

_A prince?_ Oscar's eyes widened. _What are you doing here?_

My burnt-orange Darksign—branding me as one of the Undead—was answer enough. The paladin nodded, and pointed to a spot under his tunic where I assumed his own Darksign lay. Frustrated at the slow pace of conversation, I screamed.

"We have to get out of here!"

_How?_

I considered telling him about an attempt to use my magic to escape, but thought better of it when the solitary torch at the end of the hall was joined by a second. A dark figure began shuffling towards my cell. I recognized the guard not by his green jerkin, but by the way the fire lit up his leer in a brilliance of white light. The juxtaposition of the creature's grin and the rest of the man's poorly lit silhouette made it appear detached from the warden's body; my pulse quickened when the smile floated all the way to the cell to my left.

Pressing my face to the bars in front of me, I craned my head in an effort to find out what the guard was planning to do with my neighbor. The woman had risen her screaming to a crescendo, and even I could hear it through the wax that covered my ears. Crouching on all fours and sneering, the feral Undead had retreated to the far wall of the cell, and I watched as the guard advanced on her.

Unexpectedly, the woman leapt at the fiend that had so neglected us prisoners. The man must have been caught by surprise too, because the short sword he was carrying was promptly knocked aside as she flung herself on top of him. Her hands with their long, broken nails locked on to the creature's throat, and the guard's face was red with firelight and anger. His hands were clasped uselessly around those of his opponent; I was amazed at how the stronger man was so easily being overpowered by the female prisoner.

Wanting to make sure that Sir Oscar was watching as well, I glanced over at the cell two places to my right. The man was wearing the slightest of smiles. Upon making eye contact, the knight's expression widened into a toothy grin. Together, we silently cheered on our fellow inmate.

The guard was no stranger to dirty fighting. By the time my gaze returned to the struggle, he had gouged out the prisoners eyes and was working towards his fallen sword. The man's green tunic was soaked in the prisoner's blood, but she continued to fight on, driven with the abandonment of someone with nothing to lose.

The guard's fiendish smile returned when his hand clasped the sword. His face had begun to purple, but the jailer had just enough strength to plunge the weapon deep into the woman's chest. Twice, three, then four times more, he cut at his opponent until her grip slackened and he was able to push her off. Her body slammed against the far wall and lay still. I thought that she had been defeated, until the woman rose** again** to stand upon two feet. The combatant's eyes wept a steady trickle of blood, but the demonic smile that had consumed her face let Oscar and I know that she could still fight.

The jailer countered her confidence with a smirk of his own and dropped his sword. Instead of wielding the weapon, the man directed his right hand to circle his neck and lift a small chain that had been hidden before. With his other hand raised to his collarbone, the guard squeezed what must have been attached to the necklace and gave three command words:

_"Ave Dominus Nox."_

An angry red effulgence embraced the warden as his opponent slumped lifelessly to the ground. Shaken from the struggle, the guard steadied himself against the stone wall. The omnipresent grin faded when he kicked the dead body, and for the first time, I saw him speak.

_Filthy Hollow_. He spat.

The guard kicked the body several times before noticing my stare. I immediately retreated to the back of my cell, but the action was too late. For the first time since my arrival, I was found myself face to face with the man in the green jerkin. The jailer clutched at the bars and leaned in with his bloody, filthy grin; I could smell the rot on his breath from the other end of the cell.

"What are you doing to us Undead?" I asked.

The Undead Asylum screamed mutely in the background, but the deaf guard was close enough to be heard. The warden read the words on my lips and laughed, paused for a short series of breaths, and laughed again.

"_You_ Undead?"

"Why else would I be here? If this place is not meant for visiting, why not kill us already? Aren't you worried that the prisoners will go Hollow?" _Like that poor woman._

The man lifted his green jerkin.

"I _am_ worried about going Hollow, but my concern for our clients…" he smiled and left the sentence hang in the air. "…Is only maintained because of their _humanity_."

I stared at the jailer's Darksign. Unlike Adara's shade of black and the dark-orange color of my own, the brand in front of me was white and faded to the point of translucence.

_They are harvesting the humanity of the prisoners! _

The malefactor in front of me took a step back and lovingly patted a small brown pouch at his waist.

"The Age of Fire is coming to an end. In a few years—even months—the remaining kingdoms of Lordran will be extinguished under the feet of our Undead armies. The time of the Gods has passed. The epoch of the Undead, an Age of Dark, has just begun!"

"What do you mean by, 'Age of Dark?" I responded. "I can understand why you fear the progression of your Darksign. But even if you can prolong your life by a thousand years, won't the Hollow Army just attack the Asylum and take your humanities away?"

"Fool!" the guard screeched and held up a small chain that had been tucked away under his neck. Small, interlocking silver rings fell between the man's fingers and culminated in a tiny red orb with a ruby eye. _This necklace_…I thought. _Could this man belong to a covenant?_ The jailer continued to talk as I stared at the unique piece of jewelry; I returned my focus to the wickedness that flowed from this man's lips.

"Dear prince…" the murderer's voice dripped with contempt. "Were you not at the siege? Did you not bear witness to our glory, feel helpless against our power; did you not cocoon and risk your life against the threat that so utterly and completely defeated your father? Even then, you could not realize the truth that was right in front of you!" The warden's voice dripped with malice.

_What is he talking about?_ I thought. _A Hollow Army attacked the Capitol, but they can't be the "power" that he mentioned. There must be something that I missed._ I closed my eyes and forced my mind to return to the day my home fell under attack. Once again, I was beneath the an angry canvas of reds and oranges; men fought and died around me as the Knights of Balder steadily lost ground to the Undead hordes and their commanders…

_That's it_! Healthy Undead had directed the assault! My eyes shot open at the realization and landed on the red-eye orb that was linked to the man's necklace. Once again, I recalled the guard's struggle with the prisoner and how the Hollow woman was so easily finished off.

"Your covenant has power over the Hollows!" I exclaimed. "What…what are you?"

The warden stepped back from the cell and spread out his hands in a sweeping gesture.

"We are the future of Lordran, harbingers of an Age of Darkness! Man has forsaken us. The Gods have turned a blind eye to our suffering, but the abyss has welcomed us in His glorious embrace." The jailer was in rapture, and tears of joy formed at the edge of his eyes as he screamed.

"We are the Darkwraiths! No hollow nor demon is too great to refuse to join our crusade; soon all of Lordran will know who her true rulers are." Suddenly, the Darkwraith reached through the bars and grabbed a fistful of my fraying tunic.

"Thou who art Undead art chosen…to rule! And tomorrow, Prince Rydell, you will be chosen to sacrifice what's left of your humanity to the master of this 'Undead Asylum."

The jailer released me and I threw me against the ground; I could only stare at the cell floor in mute shock. Tomorrow I am going to be sacrificed? _I have to get out of here!_

I waited for the warden to leave, but before I could cast a spell—before I could throw a rock to Oscar—the torch flickered out and left me in darkness.

Forlornly, I drew up my knees to my chest and passed the time by observing the distant skylight above. At first I could just barely make out the rectangular outline of the casement, but the passing of the hours gave birth to the wonderful transition of dawn. One by one, the stars began to flicker out, and a dark blue sheet replaced the darkness. Soft pink light seeped into the picture and was joined by the yellow glow of the sun's first rays. Involuntarily, I lifted my head to the new day and wished that the darkness of my own situation was as easily dissolved.

The soft palette of dawn was briefly splashed with red, and I involuntarily gasped. _Something_ had been dropped through the grate and landed with no small force on my head! Cursing my luck, I sat down to steady myself. It was at this time that I was hit by a wave of exhaustion. _I had not slept through the night! _My eyes began to droop; they were just about to embrace the only comfort left to me when a curious object sparkled within the refuse at the far end of my cell. My curiosity piqued, I languidly began to sort through the rotten bedding. I felt as if I had stuck my hand into a pile of slimy noodles, but was too dirty to care. Insects and other crawling things scattered at my touch, but I continued to search for whatever had fallen into my cell.

Oscar of Astora had directed a curious glance in my direction.

_What…are…you…doing?_ He mouthed.

_I…am…looking…for…something. _

_Looking for your…last…meal?_ I could just barely detect the movement two cells to my right; the knight was getting in a good laugh at my expense.

I felt foolish, and was just about to give up when my hand closed around a thick metal rod. Brushing off the dirt and stray arthropods that had accumulated on the bronze object, I triumphantly held up the find to the laughing paladin. The noble's laughter immediately ceased.

Oscar's mouth had dropped, and his face was the quintessence of shock. Slowly, my eyes drifted to the rusted item in my hand. As the realization of what I was holding dawned upon the two of us, both Oscar and I leapt to our feet.

"A key! I have the dungeon cell key! With this…we can escape!" I shouted too fast for my fellow inmate to understand, but Oscar had caught on and began to pantomime opening the cell.

My hands trembled with excitement as I fit the key into the lock. For a brief moment, I wondered at how I had ended up with the tool to my freedom. _You can think about that when we have escaped!_

The turning of the key produced a click that sent a shudder down my arm; I promptly ran to Oscar's cell and repeated the process. The door grudgingly opened, as if the Asylum itself was reluctant to release its prisoner. _We have been freed of our cells, but will the two of us manage to break free of this purgatory?_

A strong hand clasped me on the shoulder, and my fears were dispelled under the experienced gaze of the paladin. Striding confidently across the hall, he took up the warden's fallen shortsword and made several measured swings. I seized the solitary torch.

Side by side, we began our ascent to freedom. No words were spoken; the smiles on our faces were all that needed to be said.


	6. Undead Asylum (Part 2)

Darkness clung to our ascent, and the opaque creatures it formed gamboled just out of reach. I swung my dying torch at them, but the sickly light pooled at my feet and only served to amuse the creatures. Muffled cries below yet filtered to my ears and provided these shadows with the illusion of speech. One monster was crying out my name over and over again. Another was wantonly moaning, while the third of such disembodied voices screamed to the cadence of my racing heartbeat. For the hundredth time, I adjusted earplugs that were no longer there.

I stopped, turned to the paladin behind me, and screamed. "Oscar! Are you sure this miracle of yours is working?"

I must have sounded furious, because the knight's face had drained of all color. He took several paces back. By the time I had finished speaking, I was looking down his drawn shortsword.

"Gods…" he muttered. "Your face…Are you ok, Prince Rydell?"

"What do you mean, 'my face?" I retorted. "Of course I am fi—"

The shadow-creature nearest to me peeled off the wall and pulled itself into my ear. My violated mind screamed in pain; it could not decide whether the parasite's nature was solid or liquid. The pressure in my head continued to build as the darkness flooded into me, and I felt as if something important was being displaced by the evil.

I fell to the floor. In doing so, my head clipped an abutting piece of wall; my hands reflexively reached up to the warm wetness that began to blossom from my scalp. _Is this what madness is?_ I reflected. _The world is spinning, and my body is no longer my own. _

Hands that first assessed the wound began to probe, then scratch. _This pain…it feels good. Because I hurt, I know that I…. I still exist._ The phantasmagoria that had become my existence demanded that I moved, and my limbs twitched as I broke into a run on all fours.

"Rydell!" Oscar charged after me. "Where are you going? Come back! You can't go—."

My broken mind could not complete the sentence. _Out. Out. I need to get out of here!_

The underlying floor became flooded with fetid water, and I splashed into an inundated room. Drinking deeply, I attempted to quench the insatiable thirst that had consumed me. The liquid began to clear my mind, but it wasn't until the miracle was almost cast that I recognized Oscar was praying.

"…Graciously give peace, O Lords, that—being assisted by help of Thy mercy—we may be free from sin and safe from all disturbance. Through the Flames we _Seek Guidance_."

A golden radiance rolled off the paladin and into the water. The light banished both the shadows of the room and the darkness that was corrupting my soul. The golden liquid I was drinking flooded my being; I could _feel_ the darkness abate and my purpose to fulfill The Prophecy renewed.

"Sir Oscar…" I began. "Thank you. For the miracle. I don't think I would have remembered myself if you hadn't prayed."

The veteran knight let out a sigh of relief and clasped my outstretched hand.

"The Gods always answer those in need. They will see you from this prison, too."

The miracle's light began to fade. Already, the Undead Asylum's darkness was returning. A shadow hunched in the corner, reminding me of the twitching boy that had run on all fours.

I doubled over and threw up.

"Are you ok, Rydell?" Oscar put a reassuring hand on my back and pointed to the right. In an adjoining room, a long ladder stretched up into the light of day. "Look! We are almost out of the dungeon!"

"Thank the Gods." I agreed weakly.

I retched again and almost feinted, but the commanding Astoran held me upright. Draping an arm across his shoulder, I allowed for myself to be supported until I caught my breath. This action only slightly lifted the tattered tunic I was wearing, but was enough of a stretch to tear. Looking down, I panicked at the sight of my black Darksign.

Oscar of Astora continued to lead us forward, and I took heart from the stoic ally. Forcing myself to remain calm, I repeated Father's words: _Fight, so that your sun may never set._ I steeled my will, let go of the supporting knight, and continued onward.

My vision grew brighter with each step towards the ladder. When we finally reached the structure, I was momentarily blinded. The steel sky was cloudy, but I still needed time for my eyes to adjust.

Blinking the fire from my eyes, I looked around the cylindrical room to discover that Sir Oscar and I were not the only inhabitants. Partially covered under a cloak were two of the prison guards! Both were wearing nondescript leather jerkins common to the wardens; their limbs were splayed out in front and to the sides of them like discarded dolls. Oscar had already started an examination, and I noticed that both of their throats had been cleanly slit.

There were no other injuries.

"Incredible!" the knight exclaimed. "These men's throats were slit at the perfect angle! Anyone to have caught both warriors unawares in these puddle-ridden halls …must be a ghost!"

The awestruck paladin looked to me with wonder in his eyes.

"Do you have any idea who did this? Perhaps these men's killer is the same person who gave us the dungeon cell key!"

"Let me have a look."

I bent down to inspect the bodies. A cursory glance revealed them to be around forty-to-fifty summers old. Thick callouses on their lower palms revealed that both men had favored the sword. Possessing flattened noses and shaved heads that had been tattooed over, the men were classic Zenonians from the land of Zena.

I was as clueless as Oscar concerning their killer…until I noticed that both of their money pouches had been cleanly cut from their belts.

_Could it be you?_ I smiled at the thought of my friend coming to rescue me.

My companion noticed the optimism that had taken hold of me and called out as I began to ascend the ladder.

"You know who did this?"

"See for yourself!" I laughed and skipped the last rung of the ladder, eager to root my feet in the solid earth. It was raining, but I raised my face to the cleansing water and opened my mouth in a smile. Stretching my arms above my head, I broke the barrier that the low ceiling had imposed on me for so many weeks. Extending my fingers to complete the ancient gesture, I praised the Sun for seeing me through.

A speeding mass knocked the breath out of my lungs and laid me flat on my back.

"Ryyydellll!" Griggs bellowed. "You're alright!"

"Griggs!" I wheezed. "Thanks…for…the key!"

My best friend stood up and jingled a bloated leather bag. No less than twenty knots sealed the coin pouch, and I laughed when I saw the gold within.

"My daring rescue wasn't _only_ for the key."

"Of course it wasn't, you thief."

My rolling eyes caught movement in the right of the courtyard. A sable figure rested under the cover of an overhanging floor, and I broke out into a sweat at the thought of having to deal with more hallucinations. My fears disintegrated, however, when the person stepped out into the sunlight.

"Adara?" My words poorly hid my surprise. I was happy none of the less to see my rival-turned-friend, and moved to embrace the First Student.

In response, the sorceress threw up her arms and crinkled her delicate nose.

"Please Rydell, you stink."

"Oh." I stopped dead in my tracks, chagrined.

"It's ok, Prince." Griggs put on a sympathetic tone. "Sorceresses like her only go for men with catalysts."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY!?"

Adara and I simultaneously shouted at the thief, but Grigg's attention was focused elsewhere. His dagger was drawn and trained onto Oscar. The knight of Astora had reciprocated the gesture with his shortsword, and both eyed the other warily.

"Rydell! Who is this?" Griggs asked.

I stepped in between my two companions and held out my hands.

"Put down your weapon, Griggs. This is Sir Oscar of Astora, a friend. Without him I would never have gotten out of the dungeon."

The knight nodded his acquiescence. Griggs put away the dagger and unsheathed his boyish smile. Walking forward, he met Oscar with an outstretched hand.

"Terribly sorry about that misunderstanding. Name's Griggs. With two g's."

"Oscar." The paladin replied with a curt smile and engulfed the teenager's hand with his own.

The rain continued, and the three of us headed to the covered area where Adara had been lurking earlier.

"How did you two get here?" I asked.

"…The Second Wall fell only days after you left." Adara began. She could not meet my eyes with hers. I waited for her to continue, but Sir Oscar interjected before she could finish.

"We can discuss this later. It seems we have company."

The paladin pointed forward to the opposite length of the courtyard. My eyes followed the gesture to a foreboding colonnade, but the fading afternoon and overhanging stone gave me nothing to determine the identity of the intruder.

"Sir Oscar…" I began. The paladin turned his watchful gaze from the rows of concealing columns to me.

"How do you know that we are not alone?"

The knight smiled and held up a cupped hand to his ear.

"There are other senses than sight. A knight must learn to _listen._ Not only to his heart, but also to the world around him."

I nodded and closed my eyes. Long seconds passed and the rain continued to beat down upon the ceiling above. The loose rock overhead did not entirely protect from the water, and I could feel the tunic on my back grow heavier as a steady dribble of water fell from the stone.

"You look like a fool, you know." A soft movement of cloth accompanied the patronizing tone; I could _sense_ Adara's accompanying laughter.

"See here!" Griggs piped in. A light touch of air brushed against my cheek, and I smiled behind closed lids. _He's making no small amount of obscene gestures. _

"Do you hear it?" Oscar added.

I tuned out the tattoo of rain and nodded. Echoing from the opposite end of the courtyard was a sound of equal frequency to the rain, but of an entirely different pitch. _It sounds like when I walk barefoot upon the stone floors of the Great Keep_. A wistful smile took hold of my face, and then fled when I realized what the pitter-patter could entail.

My eyes opened to meet the paladin's experienced gaze. While my sight had been obscured he had drawn his sword, and now presented it to me pommel-first. I was about to open my mouth in protest when he produced a dagger from beneath the folds of his tunic.

"I took it off the Zenonians. Prepare yourself." Oscar stated flatly.

A startled Adara fumbled for her catalyst.

"Prepare for what?" The concerned sorceress asked.

At least a score of prisoners answered her question. The raggedy men and women flooded from the colonnade and into the courtyard. Their limbs were bent in unnatural angles, and many tripped over themselves in eagerness for the kill. Bloodshot eyes, pallid skin, and a red glow began to fill the courtyard; I balked at the sight of so many Hollows.

The Undead closest to me raised clawed hands, bared his yellow teeth, and then exploded as a blue bolt of magic connected with his head.

"Are you just going to stand there, Second Student?" Adara taunted and waved her white-gold catalyst at me.

I waved back and threw myself headfirst into the wave of flesh that had erupted from the colonnade. Two Hollows immediately flanked me and dove with their arms outstretched. I back stepped, let the two crash into each other, and then swung my shortsword in a wide arc. My wasted sword arm produced a pathetically weak attack, but was still enough to cut through the thin skin of my opponents. I shifted my grip to a two-handed stance. Two steps forward accompanied two deep slashes, and their headless bodies tumbled to the ground.

My ears heard an approaching wail. Anticipating the attack, I pivoted my right foot –keeping my left one planted—so that I made a smaller target for the enemy. A broken shortsword occupied the space I was standing in just seconds before. The Undead's red eyes widened in surprise, and I took advantage of his overbalance by stabbing him in the back. The shortsword easily penetrated his tunic; I could see the point sticking out of his chest.

Then I was surrounded. _Just how many Hollows are there?_

Four decayed corpses stood in front and to the sides of me, and I cursed my luck. A strong flame must have been applied to their blackened bodies, and the only color I could identify was their glowing, ruby-red eyes. A livid red mist rolled off their shoulders. _The Darkwraith must be controlling them!_

I tugged at my embedded sword. It did not move, and I began to panic as the four Hollows continued to advance on me. I quickly looked for help, and my eyes took in the desperate situation that had befallen us.

Adara was isolated in a far section of the courtyard. Having run from the heat of the battle, she was picking off whatever Undead wandered in her direction with a steady stream of sorceries. The blue-tinted conjurations were not enough, however, and the tide of Undead was growing closer and closer to my friend.

Oscar of Astora was faring no better. The vast majority of the enchanted Undead were pressing him towards the wall; I could just barely make him out within the red mist and press of decaying bodies. The paladin was now wielding a wooden shield and longsword that he must have taken off one of the armed prisoners. Judging from the memorized attack patterns and flurry of movements, I could tell that the elite fighter was very familiar with the shield-sword style.

Griggs was nowhere to be seen.

By now, the charred Undead were upon me. All four of their opening attacks were overhead swings; the Hollows' gangrenous hands and elongated nails promised a painful death. I tried to raise my encapsulated shortsword, and realized that there was no way I could block all of them! I accepted the inevitable and closed my eyes. Time slowed, and the world only existed in sound.

"_A knight must learn to listen. Not only to his heart, but also to the world around him."_

I filtered out the din around me and focused on the heartbeat that was thundering in my ears.

Then it groaned, and I sensed the corpse of my defeated opponent twitching on the end of my blade. Eyes still closed, I squatted and raised the shortsword above my head. All four of the prisoner's attacks tore into the flesh held above me, and I smiled at the successful evasion. _Oscar isn't the only one with a shield!_

Lunging forward, I bashed my nearest opponent with the shield in my right hand. This action pushed out the shortsword, and I reached around to stab the first enemy in the face. By sliding to the left, I used the defeated foe as a buffer between the three remaining Undead. Two approached me from the corpse's right side, and the other growled at me from its left.

I advanced upon the solitary Hollow and made a slow, overhead cut. The creature easily anticipated the feint and ducked, but did not prepare for my low kick. I could feel the Undead's knee shatter under the blow. Unable to support itself, the Hollow fell back and I pressed my advantage by dealing a one-two slash at the enemy's face. _That's two._

The remaining opponents paused in respect. Their blackened faces and rounded eyes were set in an unguarded display of rage. Long tongues—spotted in pink—lolled uselessly out of their mouths; I cringed at the monsters that were once human.

The prisoner's charged. Pouring all of my weight into the strike, I spun around in a circle and managed to gash both Hollows. The third of the group splashed to the courtyard, but I would not be satisfied unless all of my opponents lay defeated. As if realizing that it could not win, the fourth Undead broke into a full retreat. I quickly gave pursuit. The prisoner was fast—its tongue flapped uselessly behind it—but I could not let it join up with its allies. Seizing its tongue, I turned the Hollow around and pulled it into my sword.

_That's four._


End file.
